The world is nothing but a white haze.

Morning shrouds the desert’s vision. There is nothing to see but fog. Cold. Empty. _Perfect_.

The little stenocara beetle perches eagerly at the top of her tall rock; this is her favorite thing in the world, and she has waited for days.

The fog hugs close to her body, so close that the water gathers densely between the hills and grooves of her thick round shell. She leans her body forwards, and a big ball of water rolls into her mouth.

_Delicious_.

She repeats this several more times, lavishing in the illusion of space this blinding fog provides. In her mind, the world is nothing but her, the rock, and delicious morning dew.

But nothing lasts forever. The sun continues creeping steadily across the horizon, and with its killing warmth the dew will quickly vanish. Now that the beetle has drunk her fill, she must prepare for the perils ahead. The desert is a dangerous place. There are lizards, trickerous plants, carnivorous insects, and great furry beasts that trample the ground with their hooves and claws and feet.

The last of the desert’s waters are soon swallowed by the sun’s rays, and the beetle is left to fend for herself. Her eyes report fractured vision— a puzzle of blocks all slotted together. She sees a slithering snake and hungry hopping birds in the distance, and knows she must keep from being seen. Her hard shell and insignificant size will only protect her from so much.

The stenocara beetle crawls underneath a large red rock, shielding herself from the sun’s sweltering gaze, and more importantly, the prying eyes of all who want to take her life for themselves. She will rest here and process the dew she has swallowed, then venture out for food. The life of a desert beetle is harrowing, and the moon may rise through the sky several times before the relief of her precious fog returns.

The beetle soaks up warmth from the sand through her feet, and catches the scent of food nearby on the breeze. She lifts her shell and splays out her wings, then she leaps.